


Harry Potter and the Crimson Crux

by SanzuCross



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Detectives, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanzuCross/pseuds/SanzuCross
Summary: 13 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter - now head of the Auror office - finds himself on a case that will test everything he knows, pushing against the limits thought possible even with magic and forcing him to venture deep in order to bring an end to this reign of terror.





	1. Good Morning Call

Harry was sleeping lightly when the alarm went off. He sat bolt right up and out of instinct reached over to turn the alarm clock off. However, it wasn't his alarm clock making the klaxon noise and with this revelation, he was on his feet and scrambling to get dressed as quickly as possible. In spite of his haste, he paused for a moment - his belt unbuckled, one arm in his cloak and his glass skewed so that one of the arms had gone and lost itself in his unruly black mane - reached for the alarm clock again and checked the time before flipping the face to the family clock. 

The numbers and marks around the clock disappeared, instead replaced by eight different points: home, school, work, travelling, lost, hospital and Mortal peril; while the hands of the clock multiplied so that every member of his family was represented, and moved to illustrate their current state. 

His wife, Ginny Potter, had her hand resting on work, and Harry knew that it would be there for another couple of hours. The qudditch championships were fast approaching and the Holyhead Harpies had to a good shot at the title, which meant early morning drills to keep them in tip top fighting shape. 

His sons, James and Albus, were set to travelling, as they were both visiting their uncle, Bill Weasley and his family in France. It was summer vacation and Bill had offered to have all the kids round (most likely Fleur's idea) and everyone agreed that it would be a fun trip for the kids and once work died down for everyone else, a nice family reunion. His daughter, Lily - on the other hand - had her hand next to his own at home. She had so desperately wanted to travel with her brothers, who'd left yesterday, but a bout with the cold had left her weak and Harry wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure she was feeling a lot stronger before sending her to join her brothers and cousins. 

Finally, the hands for his best friends Ron Weasley  and Hermoine Granger were also represented on the clock and while Hermoine's stood alongside Ginny's at work, Ron's was pointed at lost. Harry would usually be concerned but there were more pressing matters and he knew that Ron wasn't in any immediate danger (or his hand would be on mortal peril).

Seeing this all made Harry sigh in relief, as he'd assumed the alarm - which had now ceased - had something to do with one of them. His fears laid to rest, Harry finished getting dressed and before heading downstairs, took a quick look in the mirror. 

At thirty, Harry had lived through his fair share of trouble and while it hadn't claimed his life, it had left its mark in the form of lines that aged him a little more than he'd like to admit and although his hair currently covered it, there was also the lightning bolt scar that had set him down this death-and-disaster-filled path from the time he was one. However, the scar had been dormant for the last thirteen years and whatever was going on, it didn't seem to be related to the scar or Voldemort, the powerful dark wizard that had given it to him. 

With that, Harry left the confines of his bedroom and headed downstairs. The lights flickered on as he made his way down, but they didn't obscure the faint blue light radiating from the living room; where he was greeted by a cougar-shaped patronus sitting on the living room coffee table. The moment it saw him, it began to speak; a smooth yet obviously tired voice of the deputy head of the auror office, Susan Bones, emanating from its closed mouth. 

"Sorry to disturb you at home, Harry," she began. "But there's an urgent case that requires your attention. I'll be waiting in your office." 

Once it had relayed it's message, the patronus evaporated and the living room was plunged into a darkness. Harry sighed and flicked his wand twice: the first flick illuminated the living room, while the second procured him a cup of steaming black coffee. He drank it as he began casting a charm that would alert him when Lily woke up (a charm he'd forgotten the name of and thus dubbed the "sleeping beauty" charm) and once both were finished, he returned the cup to the kitchen, killed all the lights in the house and walked out the door. Harry walked for a moment and upon reaching the necessary distance, turned on the spot and disappeared.


	2. New Case

In the blink of an eye, the dark streets of Godric's hollow disappeared, only to replaced by the shadow covered streets of Westminster. Taking heed not to bump into a bunch of drunk muggles that stumbled around a few feet ahead, Harry stuck to the shadows as he headed to on of the entrances to the ministry: the secluded, Victoria tower gardens. 

In the last few years, the ministry had made a few changes (most spearheaded by Hermoine) and although the changes didn't affect Harry much, one of the few that he did enjoy was the ability for ministry employs to apparite straight into the ministry from a few designated locations. A small change, though it was, it at least meant that Harry didn't have the rude awakening that came from smelling whatever it was that had died in the public toilets that had previously served as the ministries entry point. 

The locked gate proved little problem to Harry, as he slipped into the quiet gardens. He paused for a moment, allowing the smell of the freshly cut grass and memories of his days playing qudditch to wash over him, calming him before he had to step into his office and deal with whatever fresh crisis was unfolding. He exhaled loudly and spin on the spot, trading in the beauty of nature for the cold, coffin-like embrace of a giant fireplace. He stepped out and greeted the guard, who had paid little mind to the Harry's arrival. 

"Morning, Hikari."

"Morning, Mr. Potter," Hikari responded, looking up long enough to confirm who he was talking to, before returning to attention to the scrap piece of parchment he'd been fervently scribbling on long before Harry had shown up. 

"I told you, Hikari, just call me Harry," Harry instructed. Hikari was a thin young man, that seemed to teeter the edge between handsomely slim and malnourished; reminding Harry of himself when he'd been under the oppressive thumb of uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia, and probably for that reason alone, Harry had taken a quick liking to him. However, over time, he'd come to find out a great deal about Hikari and he'd gone from liking to young man to practically admiring him: former seeker of the Sun-touched Shiisaa, Hikari had left behind a thriving career and a large family, in order to pursue his dreams of becoming an auror with the British ministry of magic, as the Japanese ministry was 'bound by tradition and thus rooted in the past'. 

So here he was, working an entry level job as he bide his time, waiting for his outstanding N.E.W.Ts to clear so he could take the auror exam. Harry also knew he'd sweet talked Ms. Aberith into letting him sift through the Ministry's cold cases, and that's what he spent his spare time doing, when he wasn't watching employees come and go, passing through the gates of truth that he sat next to - another recent addition from Hermoine that worked similarly to the waterfall of truth in Gringotts, minus the getting drench part. 

"Can't do that, Mr. Potter. Not while I'm on duty, anyway." 

Harry chuckled to himself at Hikari's traditional mindset when it came to respecting one's superiors, though it was some progress from constantly being referred to as 'Head Auror Potter'.

"Well, I'll see you round, Hikari."

Harry stepped through the gate of truth, a cold chill washing over him as he did so, and he headed straight to the elevators. The ride up to the auror department was a quiet one, and silence greeted him as he walked through the cluttered and usually bustling cubicles, beelining to his office where Susan stood waiting. 

"Morning Harry," she said, her tone apologetic. Harry flashed a smile towards his deputy and unlocked his office door. The room was cool and refreshing, as though the room had been bathed in seaside air, and with the summer heat starting to rise, it was welcoming. They each took a seat: Harry behind his large, somewhat cluttered desk and Susan sitting across from him.

"Sorry I pulled you out of bed, but this couldn't wait."

"It's alright, Susan," Harry responded, as he studied her. He couldn't quite remember what Susan had looked like when they had been in Hogwarts together, but it was apparent that the job had taken its toll: stripping her hair or its flaming red sheen in favour of a more soft auburn colour, adding laughter lines to the corner of her mouth and eyes, and darkening the rings under her eyes. Still, the light in her eyes was always present - a beacon of hope and humour that Harry felt carried her through most of the hardships of the job. And today, that light was nowhere to be seen, so he mentally prepared himself for the worst. 

"What do we have?"

In response, a file materialised out of thin air and from it three pieces of paper fluttered out and landed neatly in front of him. 

On his left was a picture of the deceased: pale in death, his grey eyes vacant and lifeless as they stared up at nothing and jet black hair that looked almost coarse to touch covering his face and receeding from his forehead; on the right was another picture - a wider picture of where the deceased had been found: a quaint living room, painted acid green that looked like it had been owned by a goblin, given all of the gold scattered around the room.

"So not a robbery gone wrong," Harry thought to himself. He returned to the picture of the dead man and found himself rememberig the face bit failing to place it. Finally, he turned his attention to the piece of paper in the middle: an autopsy report from the medical examiner. However, rather than read it. Harry asked for Susan's thoughts, knowing that she had read it already and would probably have some thoughts about the information on hand. 

"Deceased name is Marcus Flint, 39, a reserve for the Cork quidditch team. He was known to have a severe gambling addiction."

"Hmm..."

"Something wrong?"

"No, its just that I vaguely remember his name and face but can't quite put my finger on it."

"You probably remember him from school. He was the Slytherin quidditch captain during your first and second year, if I'm reading this correctly."

The moment she said it, the memory fell into place. Harry remembered him having more of a troll-like face, but there was no doubt that it was him. He did recall that Marcus had been a decent flyer, so hearing that he was a reserve for a professional team wasn't too surprising. 

"When was the body found?"

"A few hours ago," Susan responded. "But the autopsy indicates that he's been dead for at least 3 days."

"Who found the body?" Harry wondered.

"A house-elf."

"Hmm," Harry continued to study the unnaturally still photographs, before asking, "So what was the cause of death?"

"That's what's a little weird. Cause of death was severe blood loss."

"Oh?" Harry looked at the right picture again, looking for a speck of blood anywhere in the picture, but he found nothing. "So what are you thinking? Vampire attack?"

"That was my first thought, but the examiner could find no bite marks on the body. There was a knife wound in his neck that I proposed could have been post-mortem to hide bite marks. But there was no black veins around the knife wound, meaning it definitely wasn't a vampire bite."

"And the examiner is certain that Mr. Flint died from blood loss?"

"I asked the same thing and she gave me one of these -" Susan tilted her head and gave Harry a look that screamed no more than a dozen choice swear words for his doubt. 

"Ok then. So it seems we're looking for a maniac wielding a knife that sucks the blood out of people."

"Would seem like it," Susan confirmed. A sigh escaped Harry's lips before an ethereal blue bird erupted from his pocket, sang a brief song as it rose towards the ceiling, before evapourating into a blue wisp. Susan raised an eyebrow and Harry quickly explained that it was an effect of the 'sleeping beauty' charm he'd placed on his daughter. 

"So, is the crime scene still active?" Harry asked, shifting gears. 

"Yes, I suspected you'd want to canvas the place yourself." Harry nodded and without a word, the both rose from their seats and headed towards the door.


	3. Checking In

Upon reaching the elevators, Harry decided to make a quick detour. So leaving Susan to ride down alone, Harry took another elevator and went one floor up, to the department of magical law enforcement. Unlike his desolate floor, the department of magical law enforcement was buzzing with activity. Actually, buzzing wasn't the right word. Everyone moved around with a sluggish demeanor, coffee barely keeping them in motion and anything stronger being prohibited during working hours. Harry made his way to the office on the opposite side of the ballpen and after three slow and deliberate knocks, he was beckoned in. 

Behind the desk placed squarely in the middle of the room sat Hermoine. She was currently pouring over a parchment that obviously originated from the stack beside her and while she didn't look up, she began speaking to him, "Harry, I thought you went home like an hour ago."

"Three hours ago, Hermoine, but something's come up that demands my attention." His words seemed to grab her attention and Hermoine looked up from her work to study him.

"You need to get some rest, Harry," she finally remarked, returning to her parchment. 

"You're one to talk," he snorted. "You've been burning the candle at both ends ever since our time at Hogwarts. If anyone needs to ease up, its you. Go home and just relax or something."

"What's the point? Its not like I'm going home to anything..." Hermoine muttered, a little more loudly than she'd expected. Nonetheless, Harry kept quiet, knowing that the separation was one of the few things that was off limits (along with the death of Harry's parents, the drunken kiss at the christmas party and Ron's new 'girlfriend'). Harry hated seeing Hermoine suffer like this, hated not knowing what to do or say to help his oldest friend. However, he knew better than anyone that he couldn't rush the healing process. So until she was ready to talk and open up, Harry wouldn't pry, but he would do his best not to let her burn herself out.

"Hermoine, I have a question," Harry stated after the silence had reached the threshold of awkward.

"I already told you Harry, I'm..." However, before she could start reciting the speech she'd prepared for such occasions, Harry cut her off, "Is there any magical weapon, specifically a bladed one, that could - theoretically - drain all the blood from a body?"

Hermoine froze and although she didn't look up, thus making it impossible for Harry to discern her facial expression, he could hear the quiver in her voice. "Is that what brought you back so early?" He said nothing, knowing his silence would be confirmation enough and at the same time, wanting to spare Hermoine the details.

"That... that would be some extremely powerful dark magic, Harry. And as you know, I'm not that well versed in the dark arts." She looked up at him, concern for his safety in her gaze and Harry felt a prong of guilt. 

A couple of years ago, before Harry had become head auror, a resurgence of murders with the death mark calling card began to occur, sparking mass hysteria and a deafening cry for the boy who lived to handle this new problem. So Harry and his partner at the time, Solomon Strix, were put on the case. It didn't take them long to discover that the new group was made of Voldemort sympathizers and a handful of surviving death eaters, who had slowly amassed enough power to steal Voldemort's body from the department of mysteries and had begun consuming it, as though he were wizarding equivalent of Jesus Christ and they - his disciples - were partaking in communion by literally eating of his body. 

Working tirelessly around the clock, Harry and Solomon managed to track the group down, only for them to fall prey to an ambush. In the scuffle, Solomon was killed by a barrage of spells and despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't overcome the fifteen to one odds and was abducted. It took the ministry less that twenty-four hours to find him and for the Hit Wizards to storm the place and apprehend the new disciples of Voldemort (wanting to be set apart from Death Eaters). However, in that time, Harry had been tortured to about an inch of his life and had spent the next week in St. Mungus recuperating. 

It was there, bedridden and unable to stay conscious without a large dose potions that Harry promised Hermoine, Ron and Ginny that he would do his best to stay out of unnecessary trouble, and while Ron and Ginny had chalked up this promise to delirium, Hermoine still held him to it. So, in cases like this, when he was on the trail of another psychopath, she couldn't help but worry, even if she never voiced her disdain at him diving head first into darkness for the nth time. 

"Sorry," he muttered, before clearing his throat. "Thanks anyway."

"I can look into it when I get the chance."

"No, Hermoine, I couldn't ask you to do that. Don't worry about it, I'll speak to Gibbon. You just finish up and head home, or better yet, head to my house."

Hermoine hesitated, wry of another ambush like the one Mrs. Weasley had attempted a few months back. However, Harry assured her that he would not try and spring Ron on her like carrot-topped jack-in-the-box. "C'mon Hermoine. Ginny hasn't seen you in months and Lily misses her favourite aunt."

Hermoine seemed torn and after watching her chew her bottom lip till it looked as though she was wearing the lip gloss, she agreed to stop by the house, under the condition that she finished her work on time. 

"Then I'll let Kreature know you'll be coming for dinner." Harry joked, as he headed out off to join Susan downstairs. 

"Be careful!" she called after him. Just before closing the door, Harry turned around and flashed her a grin. 

"Aren't I always?"


	4. Welcome to the Flint Manor

By the time Harry had caught up with Susan, the sun had begun to poke out from behind the horizon and while it hadn't completely bathed their secluded spot in Victoria tower gardens, it had tickled the tops of the trees surrounding them, turning them a vibrant green. Harry would have happily sat here and watched the sunrise - there had been some days when he'd finished work in the early hours of the morning when he had done just that. Unfortunately, today was not one of those days.

“Sorry again Susan, could you hold on for another moment?” Susan give a quick nod and walked a little ahead, giving Harry a little more privacy - not that he necessarily needed it. He dipped into his pocket and fished out a large chrome hunter pocket watch. Before pressing the crown, he thought of Lily, his bundle of joy, wonder and curiosity, and keeping her at the forefront of his mind, Harry pressed down on the crown and the lid popped open to reveal a modified version of the Weasley clock.

Unlike the original that had multiple hands to represent different individuals and a handful of dials, this pocket watch looked more like a normal clock: two hands (a minute and an hour hand) and 12 dials around the clock face; but the clock face was split in two by a jagged, almost lightning bolt shaped line with each half representing something different. The top half was made up of locations - home, school, work, hospital, prison/detention and miscellaneous; while the bottom half focused on emotions: happy/joy, sad, fearful, angry, love and disgust.

Another major difference between his pocket watch and the Weasley clock was that, rather than showing everyone at once, Harry could select whomever he was to check on. All he had to do was keep them at the forefront of his thoughts before pressing the watch's crown, which would open to reveal the person's picture in the lid and both their location and emotional state on the watch's face. Typically, Harry wasn't in the habit of using the watch (unlike his wife who used it to keep tabs on their kids), but he was a little worried about his daughter. 

She'd been sick the last few days and seeing as Ginny wasn't home from training yet, Lily was all alone. On top of that, she'd been feeling a little down since Albus and James had left for their uncle Bill and aunt Fleur's summer house in France, where they would be spending the summer with their cousins. Fortunately, Lily seemed to be feeling a lot better and was bursting with excitement, probably hoping to leave for France as soon as possible or taking advantage of the lack of parental guidance or older brothers to eat as much sugary cereal as she could for breakfast. Harry smiled as he pocketed the watch and moved back to Susan.

“Sorry about that,” He apologized.

“Not a problem. Everything ok?” Susan asked. 

“Yes. Just wanted to check on Lily. She's home alone at the moment.”

“Oh. You want to go home first?”

“No, no. Ginny will be home soon and Lily's not like James, so she wouldn't do anything too stupid.” Susan nodded and smiled and turned around. Harry grabbed onto her shoulder and allowed her to appariate the both of them to the crime scene.

 

The first thing Harry thought, as he crossed over the threshold and protective barriers that kept anyone without authorization out, was that Marcus had been bachelor, going by the furnishing alone. Everything that had been used to decorate the apartment was ‘stylish’ and ‘fashionable’ and did everything in its power to steer as far away from comfort as humanly possible. Green, black and silver had been the themes for each room, paying homage to the house of Slytherin. It all left Henry wondering why the cold, sharp décor? But questioning the dead on their decoration choices was extremely low on Harry's list of priorities.

“You know, you never did tell me any of your theories,” Harry stated once they'd made their way to the exact scene of the crime - the living room, which was more circular than the pictures had led Harry to believe it would be. 

All Harry got in response from Susan was a ‘hmm’, as she circled the room thrice: twice clockwise and once anti-clockwise, before she produced the pictures from the file and with a flick of her wand, they dissolved to create an ethereal version of Marcus's dead body, lying exactly where he'd discovered. 

“Hmm,” Susan said again. She squatted down so that she could have closer look at the wound and when she was done, she stood up and began deconstructing her theory.

“Given everything we know, I think this boils down to one of two possibilities, though both have their flaws: 1. Marcus was accidentally killed by his bookie, after failing to pay off his hefty gambling debt, or 2. He was targeted for being on the Cork quidditch team.

“Starting with the second possibility, seeing as it has the most holes, I think this was a scare tactic gone wrong. It’s been well established that Cork and the Ballycastle Bats have a long-standing rivalry, which has been known to occasionally turn violent, and I wouldn't put it past either team from attempting to sabotage the other.

“So, in this scenario, a fixer from the Bats would have paid Marcus a visit and one thing would have led to another (maybe triggered by inexperience, nerves or any number of things) and the fixer would have ended up killing him.

“However, the most obvious problem with this possibility is motive. Yes, the Bats and the Corks have a rivalry, but why Marcus? Why not Coppertail or Hommer, the starters for the Corks? The other major issue is how the fixer gained entry. All locks were tested for magical tampering, whether using alohomora or via artefacts designed to unlock anything, but all tests came back negative, meaning that Marcus knew his killer and let him into the apartment. This brings me to the first possibility: a shake down gone wrong.

“Marcus would have known whoever had been sent to get his money and would have let them into the house. That would have brought them to the living room, where the conversation would turn sour, as either Marcus couldn't pay or simply didn't want to. Given the fact that his wand was still in his pocket, we can assume that the killer attacked Marcus while he had his back turned and given the nature of his death, I think the knife wasn't meant to drain all his blood. Just enough to leave Marcus woozy and thus, easier to deal with. 

“However, this proposal is also riddled with holes. First off, Marcus had not been affected by any form of immobilization charms, jinxes or hexes, which means that he would have attempted to reach for his wand or at the very least, tried to attack his killer in an attempt to escape, which would leave behind their DNA somewhere on Marcus' body. But alas, there was no foreign DNA under his fingernails or anywhere else in this apartment for that matter. Secondly, unless the killer had been interrupted, he would have ransacked the house of anything valuable, which would in turn provide us with something to go off of.

“So, there you have it. Those are my two primary thought processes.” 

“Interesting,” Harry mumbled back. He took a moment to canvas the room himself and he did his own inspection and while could see how Susan had arrived at her two ideas, there was a third option.

“What if this was a robbery gone wrong, committed by someone that Marcus knew? Probably someone younger than himself, close enough for Marcus to drop his guard around and even when threatened at either wand or knife point, Marcus would have still found it difficult to attack this person. It would also explain how the killer gained access to the house without magic and why Marcus died without a single defensive wound on his body.”

“But what did they take? Given that the money remains untouched and anything worth pawning is still her.”

“It would have been something very specific. A family heirloom perhaps or an extremely rare artefact. Question: who found Marcus and called it in?”

“His house-elf, Wimpy. Apparently, after the house elf accords went into effect, Marcus couldn't afford to have her living with him. So, he had her come in today, Mondays and Fridays.”

Harry slowly digested this information as he stood over ethereal Marcus, studying the wound, the dead man's almost blissful expression and the clothes he'd died in, and was still nagged by one question: why a knife?

A wand would have proved easier to use in accomplishing murder, as with two words, you would have achieved the same result. So, the only possible reason to use a knife, would be to throw them - the investigators - off the scent. However, given the abnormal nature of the weapon used, wouldn't it be counter-productive? As a unique weapon such as this could be traced back to the killer. The question continued to plague him long after they left and even while Harry instructed Susan to speak to Wimpy - who'd been taken in for questioning, get a list of all family heirlooms and/or special artefacts that Mr. Flint had owned, and also to start compiling a list of Marcus's known associates while maintaining an emphasis on those that were well above or well below his age. 

However, the irritating nagging did pause long enough before Harry departed for his home once again, for him to ask, who had specifically requested him. 

“It was an instruction straight from the Minister himself.” 

With that, Susan appariated back the office and Harry stood overlooking the Thames river for a moment longer, before heading home.


	5. Further Reseatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing answers, Harry takes a trip to the one place that might yield something.

Sleep was a fleeting concept for Harry, especially when he was on a case. No matter how hard he tried, questions revolving around the case would nag him incessantly until either he found the answers he was looking for or his body finally gave out from lack of care. Even then, when his body could take no more, his dreams would be plagued by these questions, haunting him until he woke up and continued his search. And today was no exception. 

However, first Harry had to take care of Lily. He returned home to find her already dressed, her bags packed and her eyes shining brightly when she saw him. He had to talk her out of wearing her tutu and oddly coloured socks before he spent a few minutes trying to reach either Fleur or Bill to set up a portkey between their houses. Eventually, Victorie picked up and after wading through her usual barrage of questions (in a mixture of both French and English), she passed on the phone to Bill. 

"Morning Harry," he said into the phone, his voice coated heavily in sleep. "What time is it over there?" 

"Nine-something in the morning." 

"That would make it eight-something here. Please don't tell me you've become one of those broomstick parents that hoovers over their kids." 

"As if," Harry laughed, as Lily impatiently pulled on his shirt. "No, I have another munchkin to send over to you." 

"Another one? Ginny's turning into mum." 

Harry laughed. "Not another baby. I meant Lily." 

"I know. How could I forget my favourite niece?" 

"Wow, better not let Rose hear you say that." 

It was Bill's turn to laugh and Harry could hear it in his chest, a rumbling that reminded him of a wolf's howl. "So, you want me to send over a portkey?" 

"Please and thank you." 

"Ok, give me a moment." And with that Bill called Victoire over to help him cancel the call, as the inability to properly use muggle technology seemed to have skipped Bill's kids. 

While they waited for he portkey to arrive, Harry sat Lily down and went over all the stuff she should and shouldn't do. Lily, of course was too impatient to properly listen, but Harry know she would behave and if nothing else, Victoire would ensure they were all safe. Moments later, a magnificently carved wooden clock ornament spawned in the kitchen and with a hug, Harry sent Lily on her way to meet her brothers and cousins. 

Once she was gone, the thought of returning to bed weighed heavily on his mind, but Harry pushed the urge aside, took a book off the shelf in the living room, and headed back out; this time heading for the library.

 

The London library was among some of the largest libraries in the U.K. for both magical and non-magical books. However, given its proximity to the ministry and the "inadequate space" at the ministry to house all the confiscated dark arts books that had been attained during search and seizure operations, as well as those turned over by former dark wizards, the ministry had transferred all those books to the London library. Thus, creating the largest known collection of dark arts literature in the world. 

Harry approached the library from the side, rather than the front. About five metres away from the wall he'd been walking towards, he encountered the first-level of security: a magical, translucent force-field that demanded a password to be cleared, otherwise it would erase the last week of your memory using a specific charm that only the ministry could reverse. Withdrawing his wand, Harry started the long process to inputting the password, which contained a lot of swishing, flicking, something akin to an Irish jig and finally, using the tip of his wand to write on the force-field itself. A pulse ran through the force-field as Harry added the mandatory full stop to the word "Nevermore" and for his efforts, he was reward with a small rectangular space opening within the force-field. He stepped through, the hole silently closing behind him, and proceeded to the next hurdle. 

The second security measure was a stone gargoyle that protruded out of the side of building. It stretched out its claw outwards him, its face twisted in agony, as though it had gotten stuck mid-phase and it was in excruciating pain. For this lock, identification was necessary; even if the entirety of the ministry knew about this library, only a select few had the clearance to access it and the gargoyle verified one's identification. Harry presented the gargoyle with his ID, placing it in his mouth but removing his hand quickly as the gargoyle chomped down on his ID and began chewing. It chewed for a bit, before opening his mouth and allowing Harry to take back his dust covered ID. Once Harry had taken it back, the gargoyle groaned and with whatever energy Harry's ID had given it, it pulled itself through the wall. Free of its prison, the gargoyle took off into the air, doing its best to escape. Sadly, Harry knew that the gargoyle wouldn't make it far; it would meet the force-field and ‘die’, its mind wiped, and its consciousness sent to another body to restart the cycle all over again. Sadly, there was nothing that could be done. So, Harry stepped through the gaping hole and into the unnaturally cold passageway. Behind him the hole began to repair itself slowly, purposefully awaiting the arrival of the reincarnated gargoyle that would try to escape and inevitably be stuck in the wall once more, waiting for another patron to release it. 

Harry followed the passage, down an exceedingly long staircase and took a right at the crossroads before encountering the last line of defence: a spectre. Unlike normal ghosts, a spectre was something of an anomaly, being almost half-human and half-ghost. This allowed it to attack anyone or anything it deemed a threat, while remaining impervious to any forms of attacks, counter-attacks or ambushes. When Harry had first come across a spectre - his third mission as a full-fledged auror, he'd wondered why powerful dark wizards such as Grindlewald and Voldemort hadn't simply created an army of these creatures and used them to win their respective wars (well, he'd thought this after he'd survived the attack and was sure that he wouldn't be killed). It turned out that the reason for this was twofold: firstly, it seemed that spectres were naturally passive in nature and would only attack when their "heart" was threatened; secondly, it was still unknown how spectres were created in the first place, making the creation of one something that lay beyond the scope of all. 

“Stay away...” the spectre groaned, as Harry approached. She was a young female with hair that fell to the ground, even though she was levitating almost 3 feet off it. Her voice was quiet but echoed in the empty halls of the library. “Leave my precious alone...”

Harry paid her no mind and continued to approach, which made the spectre get louder and louder, until Harry was feet away and the spectre was screaming at the top of her non-existent lungs. At this point, Harry stopped walking and stared at the spectre, wary of an attack. However, when it was apparent that she would not, he withdrew a small book from within his cloak, opened it to a random page and began to read:

“’Then fix'd in earth. Against the trembling wood  
The wretch stood propp'd and quiver'd as he stood;  
A sudden palsy seized his turning head;   
His loose teeth chatter'd, and his colour fled;   
The panting warriors seize him as he stands,   
And with unmanly tears his life demands.’”

The spectre had stopped screaming, completely captivated by the poem Harry read and when he stopped, it seemed to take a little while longer for the spell she'd been under to break. She was about to start her screaming again when Harry began to talk, 

“This is ‘The Iliad of Homer’ by Homer. Consider it payment to allow me the use of your library.” 

The spectre looked from Harry to the book again and again, her eyes hungry as she reached out and took the book from his hands. 

“This way,” she said quietly. Her eyes never left the book as they made their way down the passageway and into the actual library. 

Spectres were known to protect anything that they referred to as their ‘heart’ and attacked any that tried to approach it. The only way to gain access to their heart was to add to it, making their heart bigger and in turn making them protect it even more fiercely. In this spectres' case, her heart was books and thus, the library as a whole. To gain access, you had one chance to present her a book she had never read before, which seemed to be becoming increasingly difficult. 

The spectre disappeared the minute Harry stepped over into the main library, leaving him to search the vast library alone. Fortunately, Hermione had taught Harry a locator charm that librarians used when they needed to search for a book. So, using the keywords "cursed knife" and "blood loss", he summoned all the related books and piled them on the nearest table. The accumulated selection wasn't too large thankfully and with a deep breath, Harry sat down and began reading. 

An hour or two later, Harry felt no closer to identifying the exact murder weapon, but he did have a couple of new ideas. The killer could have used a cursed blade that made any wound made with it bleed profusely, which would have made the neck wound fatal. If not that, there was a jinx that accomplished the same thing, but only affected already open wounds. Finally, there was apparently a knife that had been forged using vampire bones. However, as no one had ever seen this knife, its function was called into question; one author believing that the knife would drain its victim of all their blood, while another believed that even the smallest cut made by the knife would turn the person into a vampire. 

All these ideas were plausible and quite viable, but Harry was still sceptical. All three methods were convoluted and when combined with the fact that Marcus had not tried to defend himself and there was no evidence of bewitchment, all three methods became damn near impossible. However, he was thinking about this in relation to the current working theory that this was a robbery gone wrong. The convoluted nature of the killing would change if what the killer had been after had been Marcus's blood. 

It was an interesting theory that answered a few outstanding questions, while raising a batch of new ones, and worth exploring if the robbery theory failed to garner any traction. 

An ache rippled through Harry's body and he stretched as he got his feet, only to feel more tired afterwards. He decided to pack it up for today and after he put away all the books he'd used, he took another long-winded pathway to get out of the library. He cleared the security measures implemented to ensure nothing was taken from the library and was spat out the back of the library, through the emergency exit.


End file.
